Desiicorpus
by Appreciates Fine Labrats
Summary: Fred's not doing so well after the war, and neither is George. They finally reunite.


Tears streaked George's face as he clambered up on boulders, past fuzzy hillocks, ever upwards towards his destination. Though he'd told no one his plans, by design, he nevertheless wished there could be someone with him as he made his last trip. They wouldn't understand, though, any of them, why he had to do what he was doing. He paused to suck on a finger that had scratched roughly against a bramble and grinned wryly to himself. Fine sight he'd make when he finally showed up, he thought, then shrugged and continued on his way. He didn't have much time before they found his note. He'd chosen to do this the Muggle way, partly to confuse the search and partly to work out his own restless energy. He panted slightly as he tackled the last rocky outcrop, relishing the feel of blood pounding through him and sensing the first few touches of the sun as it rose with the dawn. This was it. A shiver of fear and excitement coursed through him. He moved across to the simple stone marker that stuck up out of the ground and tears found their way down his face once more. George brushed them away impatiently, frowning with a furtive glance around to make sure nobody had seen. He was safe, no one would see him for a while yet. He sank down to his knees in the springy turf, looking around at the peaceful view. This had been his and Fred's favourite place to go for privacy. The breath caught in his throat as longing over took him, but he told himself to be patient.

/\\\\

The actual blast came to Fred as if muffled under a blanket, and its concussive force he felt jar his entire body, so that even the agony he should have felt was gone in a fleeting moment. And then he was floating, only vaguely aware of where he was, but he knew that something - something was very wrong. He felt fractured, as if that part of him that made him whole was gone. He cast about for some clue that would fill that void, this, though he had no body that he could discern. Pieces were coming back to him, pieces of who he was and had been, reforming in the vastness in which he floated. He sensed serenity eluding him, a tiny pinprick in the distance through which he could feel benevolence, but the sense of wrongness was so palpable he recoiled in favour of a soundless cry that emerged from him. He remembered. George. The agony which assaulted him now, though he had not a body with which to feel it, was worse by far than he could have felt from the explosion that killed him. He understood now that he was dead, and that fact did not disturb him so much as being away from George. George was that piece missing. How could anyone think he'd be able to go on without his other half? The presence which was Fred now struggled even more valiantly, trying to go the other way, against the tide which carried him inexorably away. Away from his soul, away from George. Tears spilled out around him. Just as Fred could not cope without George, he too knew his twin, identical to the last freckle, could not go on without him. He sprang free finally, of the grasping bonds and floated back along his trail. He didn't know how long he travelled, propelled only by a deep throbbing in his heart. It guided him, like a beacon, back along that elastic tie, back to his anchor on the earthly plane. Fred emerged, shivering, on the other side, and the sight shocked him. He was nothing, less than a ghost, a mere presence given form by unutterable loss and love. He emerged into chaos. The eternity he'd felt in limbo had in fact only been a few minutes in the real world. He drifted through scenes of carnage and death, but none of it affected him. He let himself go; and, as if by homing beacon, was tugged to his other half. Fred drifted down and saw his family. He hardly registered them but for a twinge of sadness. George was bent over his body, laid out with a gravity that had never graced Fred's features before, his face a mass of tears, of suffering that Fred felt all the more. George leant over Fred's cold face, buried his face in Fred's hair and rocked, cradling it as if never planning to let go. The presence that was Fred felt its heart wrench, he was inexorably pulled to his twin's body. He reached out a nebulous hand and was surprised to find he did have one. It touched George's clenched fists and the living man flinched visibly as if touched by ice. Fred lay his head to rest against George's hair and held him close, trying to enter him, to complete himself and fill the gaping wound within him.

George shivered with sudden cold and peered through tear-stained eyes at Fred's corpse. He had felt Fred's presence just then. The sight of Fred's unnaturally white face sent all such ideas from his mind and he uttered a small sound of distress before bending over and dissolving into another bout of tears.

Fred uttered the same sound of distress as his brother, but could do no more to assuage his despair. He hovered uncertainly over the bodies, his own emptiness not fixed by being so near, yet so far from his twin.

/\\\\

Time passed, events unfolded, people came home, yet Fred could not move on. He hardly cared that Voldemort was vanquished, not when he was suffering so greatly. He could not communicate with George, could not comfort him or stop the heart wrenching cries of 'Fred' he uttered at night in his dreams. The passage of time healed all wounds except Fred's. He would often curl up next to George and try to whisper words of love, and it seemed to offer some small measure of comfort, because George's tears would dry up and his breathing would even out. George would utter one last feeble 'Fred' and drop off to sleep. Fred would be left alone to keep watch over George's grief wracked body. He had moved back home. Sensing, perhaps, that George should not be alone at this time, their mother had insisted he come live at the Burrow. Fred barely registered the rest of his family, they existed in a sort of haze outside of his point of interest. His raw need for that other half of him superseded all else - it was that burning mission which kept his bodiless substance on earth. Sometimes George would sit on the edge of his bed and finger his wand, contemplative. His eyes were red with tears and fatigue; there was a hopeless, defeated look in his eyes. Fred knew instantly what George was thinking, and that selfish need of his goaded George on. But every time George came close to uttering the fatal curse, he would sigh and fall back to the bed. Fred would hiss in frustration and pace the room.

Eventually Fred realized George would need a bit of a push to make him step over the abyss. He drifted over the bed, ghosting one insubstantial hand over the empty hole in the side of his dear brother's face, the only mark that separated them from being one and the same. But even that mark would be gone when George joined him, he knew. Fred came to a rest in front of the mirror and was unsurprised to see nothing. He would have to try harder. Shutting his eyes tightly, he gathered himself as closely as he could and focused all his unearthly thoughts on slipping into a semblance of his former body. Cracking one eye open, he glanced down and was disappointed to find himself as insubstantial as before. He shut his eyes again and clenched his fist and every other part of his free-floating spirit - though he felt it not as a physical clenching and more of a tightening of the will. Tremendous pressure built up and his substance tingled - he couldn't do it, he couldn't take the pressure! - but he focused all his thoughts on George and held himself all the more. Finally, after an agonizing moment that felt like an eternity, Fred felt a difference. He was no longer...light. There was a gravity to his limbs that hadn't been there before. He cracked an eye and held out a hand. He was...himself again. Flimsy, see through, but that was his hand, his legs, his feet. He felt his face. Fred's hair, his nose, his ears. But he was still only visible to himself. Letting out a deep breath, he again focused himself on the one thought that made it all worth it - George. That sustaining idea was all that kept Fred from giving up - after a terrible moment when he thought his head or his entire being would burst from the pressure, he emerged with a small pop into the mirror. Shaking with exhaustion, he sank to the ground, then crawled to George's side. He hoped this would all be worth it. As the effort took its toll on him Fred was unable to maintain his form. He slipped back into nebulousness just as George murmured under him in his sleep. Over the next few days he was able to perfect the transition; it no longer took the same amount of force.

/\\\\

George stared at his reflection in the mirror, vaguely upset at how run-down he looked. Somehow he'd had an easier time sleeping lately, but the days full of savage weeping kept his eyes in dark hollows and his cheeks red. Sighing, he splashed water over his face half-heartedly, eyeing the wand on the counter. The thoughts weren't coming as frequently now, but George was more willing to entertain them seriously every time he contemplated the rest of his life without Fred. Could he run the shop alone? There was no spark leading him on; he knew he'd lost something important in that one instant.

"George..."

He heard the voice just as he was leaving the bathroom. At first he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him - or maybe it was his voice? But there it was again, more urgent than before, and there was no mistaking Fred's voice.

"George, look at me..."

He turned, slowly, on his heel, half expecting to see nothing. George yelled, stumbling backwards. Fred was...there. In his mirror. Flimsy, almost see-through, but he was...there. George twisted around desperately, expecting to see whoever was pulling this sick joke, but the hallway was empty. There was no one around save his ragged breathing and...that presence. He still couldn't bring himself to believe it, though he should, it was possible. Hogwarts ghosts being proof of it. But still George's first thought was that he was feeling the effects of sleep depravation. He scrubbed at his face with one hand, feeling like he was about to choke. He wanted so much for it to be true, to be reunited with his brother, that he was afraid one move would ruin everything.

"Fred?" he choked out, taking a step forward. The shade of his brother, his twin, smiled at him, and the sob he'd been holding back tore out of him with an intensity he hadn't anticipated. He fell to his knees and wept, not caring how ridiculous he looked. Fred whispered soothing words to him that he didn't hear. When the storm of his emotion passed, he raised his eyes and held out a tentative hand to the spirit. Fred reached out to meet it. As they met in the middle, George gasped at the icy-cold sensation - he'd felt that same chill several times before.

"Oh God, Fred, you didn't!" he exclaimed hoarsely, getting up on his knees. As much as he wanted his brother back he didn't want him doomed to that ghostly half existence eternally. Fred shook his head quickly. "George...I can't go on without you," he breathed, and George nodded with him. "Come with me..I can't stay long...come with me."

The ache in his voice was unmistakeable, George would do anything to make it go away. He found himself nodding along, eyes drinking in Fred's every feature, as if they weren't identical and he hadn't been seeing himself in the mirror every day. But there were differences. Fred was whole and his skin was full and flush with the life he'd had before his death. George knew he was gaunt, and the circles beneath his eyes were bruised.

"Anything, Fred," he whispered, hand still extended and feeling the coldness that was his twin's hand. "I need you...need to be with you."

Fred's outline was losing strength, he was struggling to stay and George cried out with a fresh loss.

"Don't have much more strength...George..._George_." Fred's face contorted in agony and two slow tears wound their way down his cheeks. "I know you've wanted to do it. I'll help you. Come to our place, tomorrow at sunrise. I'll do it with you...and we can be together forever."

His voice faded, as if from an impossible distance, and he held out his hand imploringly. George reciprocated, nodding tearfully and trying to imprint Fred's face in his mind. With a last shudder, Fred disappeared entirely. George sat on the floor for what seemed and eternity, savoring the image he had of Fred. Eventually he picked himself up, wiping at his tear-stained eyes with the back of a hand. He stared at himself in the mirror, arms braced on the counter. Had that really just happened? He had to say yes. There was no way he could have hallucinated that kind of encounter, no matter how hard he'd wanted to see Fred. And as he contemplated what Fred was asking of him, he felt himself calmly accepting it as inevitable. His family would suffer, surely, but he couldn't imagine they'd be surprised. It had been so long, and he really hadn't been taking it well. He might have taken that final step himself if Fred hadn't come to him. They would mourn him, yes, but as an extension of Fred's loss. Better they were both taken out of their lives, a unit, one storm of grief and their family would eventually move on. Better than seeing George waste away. He felt this was right. Better than reliving the grief of Fred's loss every time they saw him.

/\\\\

George clambered up the rugged hillside, destination fixed firmly in mind. Their place. The place they'd found and went when they wanted to be alone, to let down their guard. It was theirs and theirs only, and as such would take a while to find. George quickened his pace, longing to join Fred and feeling a bubble of happiness rising in his throat. He'd see Fred again soon. He reached the top of the hill and stood, harshly panting in the light of just-breaking dawn. He stepped into the middle of the clearing, marveling at how beautiful it was. He hadn't been here in a long time, since before the war. A lump caught in his throat at the thought of never seeing a place like this again. George imagined seeing the world without Fred, and he had to suppress a shudder. No - as long as they were together he could face anything the future brought.

George settled himself down under their favourite beech tree, clenching his wand tightly. The sun was glinting gold along the horizon, about to surge upward and color the sky in brilliance. George squinted away from the glare, into the wooded areas on either side and jumped. Fred's hazy body was fighting the sunlight. George jumped up, teeth clenched and fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. It hadn't been a dream. He was really going away.

Fred stepped closer to him, filling George's heart with joy.

"Are you afraid?" asked Fred kindly.

"Not...n-not with you," answered George.

Fred smiled and led George to their tree. George sat down underneath it and allowed Fred to overlap him, feeling an icy chill where they overlapped. He leaned back and smiled slightly, secure within Fred's gossamer touch and with his voice gently whispering encouragement and love in his ears. George pointed the tip of his wand towards his chest.

/\\\\

Arthur Weasley panted with exertion as he stopped for a break. He had been apparating to every imaginable location since before daybreak, and it was starting to take its toll.

"Here! Oh God...HERE!"

The sound of Molly's shriek startled him out of his thoughts and he drew himself up, all the while beginning to shield himself from what he knew they were going to find. He turned on his heel and oriented to Molly's side. She was still standing, shocked into silence finally and clutching the crumpled paper which had signaled to them all their son's final intentions. Arthur felt his heart wrench inside him, even though he had secretly known and dreaded this day would come from quite some time now. That which had begun with the final battle was finally complete, and a part of his heart was broken off forever. He knelt down beside George's body. It was slumped to the side, wand held loosely in the slack fingers of one hand. Arthur gingerly extricated the wand, rubbing his tears away with one sleeve and moving to stand beside his wife. Figures began appearing around them as Athur held Molly silently.

"No!" It was Bill's weak cry. Soft murmurs of grief filled the clearing. There was little left to say. They had indeed known it would happen, but it hurt no less as they tenderly arranged George's body. The death of their twins was only now complete. They wept bitter tears that night, but the smile of pure peace left on George's face spoke for him.

/\\\\

George struggled mightily against the unfamiliar sensation of being weightless. He had no form, yet everything pressed against him. Suddenly he could feel Fred overlapping him, only now he was warm and their thoughts mingled as never before. He relaxed into the comforting presence and opened his eyes to the void.

"Are you ready?" Fred smiled at him.

George nodded, the great bubble inside him swelling to almost unbearable proportions. Everything before faded away. There was only Fred. They linked hands and drifted together towards the light, which opened to accept them as one, bonded for eternity, as always was and should have been


End file.
